


Don't test the moment

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Behind the Sea [3]
Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-16
Updated: 2008-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Wait, you’re the psychic?” isn’t the best first impression Gabe has ever made.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't test the moment

**Author's Note:**

> Approximately one million years ago, I asked people for prompts in the Behind the Sea (alternate universe version) universe, and eloquentice asked about the first time Gabe and William met. Because I am a failboat, I started writing and then forgot about it. Better late than never?
> 
> Title stolen from William's theme song on stereomer's big bang mix.

The UEO’s pet psychic – _parapsychologist,_ Admiral Schechter had corrected wearily – isn’t exactly what Gabe had expected. In fact, he only figures out he’s wrong when the skinny kid with the collection of security clearance tags hanging off his shirt shifts his weight impatiently and sighs, instead of taking the duffel bag he’s holding to the quarters of the bigwig he’s working for.

“Wait, _you’re_ the psychic?” isn’t the best first impression Gabe has ever made.

The kid frowns at him. He’s fresh-faced and too pretty for a boy, really, and also really fucking young. He can’t be more than eighteen. “How old are you?” Gabe asks, and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“Are you the captain?” the kid asks doubtfully. He looks like he’s thinking the same thing Gabe is about their ages, which makes Gabe puff his chest up a little, because he earned this promotion.

“Welcome aboard. I’m Captain Saporta. it’s a pleasure to have you with us, Mr. Beckett.”

The kid shifts his weight again on long, spindly legs, still eyeing him, and Gabe remembers suddenly all of the telepathy-blocking exercises he’d been practicing in preparation for this meeting.

“You’re not reading my mind, are you?” He’s usually much smoother than this, honestly. It’s just that Schechter assigned him a fucking psychic before he’d even gotten his boat wet, and okay, maybe Gabe’s a little nervous.

William’s look stops being doubtful and moves more into _I’m talking to a crazy nutter_ , but with a healthy dose of annoyance as well. “No. Are you really in charge of the submarine?”

“Every inch of her,” Gabe proclaims, slapping a hand against the bulkhead. William’s gaze follows the motion, then flicks back. Gabe starts doing the telepathy-blocking exercises again. _Mind clear, visualize white._

“Parapsychologist,” William says suddenly, and Gabe is shocked out of his field of white. When Gabe narrows his eyes unconsciously, he says impatiently, “I’m not reading your mind, you called me a psychic before.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?” Gabe asks, leaning casually in the doorway. He’s not so sure about letting this one get settled in. Even if he is remarkably easy on the eyes.

William ignores him, and appears to have finally given up on Gabe showing him to his quarters, because he takes off across the docking bay on his own, leaving Gabe to hastily straighten up and stride manfully to catch up with him.

“What’s with the swimming pool?” William asks, pausing by the nearest moon pool. “Do you not have enough water already?”

“It’s not for swimming,” Gabe explains, glad he at least sounds like a knowledgeable professional now and not an idiot. “There’s a sizeable science contingent coming aboard as well, and they’re bringing a dolphin.”

He’s about to go into the military spiel about using dolphins for their natural sonar and intelligence, but William’s lost interest, already leaning over the pool. “Dolphin?” he echoes, one hand outstretched and hovering over the water, as if he expects one to appear in front of him.

Truth be told, Gabe is a little miffed. A dolphin is not as interesting as the captain of a submarine, and certainly not the one a new crew member should be focused on. A new hot crew member. Even if he is a melon-head.

“Are there other pools like this one?” William asks. “And I would not look better naked, these are my favorite jeans.”

Gabe jerks his gaze up from where it had accidentally settled on William’s ass. William looks a bit irked by the unintentional insult to his clothing choice, and Gabe is flustered by the fact that William just _read his mind._ “You can’t just go around doing that,” he says, and it comes out sounding less like an order than he would have preferred, but it’s still an order anyway, because hey, he’s the captain. Speaking of. “And why aren’t you in uniform?”

William’s eyes narrow, just enough for Gabe to tell. “Because I’m not a member of your crew,” he says, and Gabe doesn’t need to know him to be able to tell that that’s a warning tone. “I’m just assigned to your ship.”

“Boat,” Gabe corrects. And, “Your personnel file says you’re mine.”

Definitely a warning look. Before it can go any farther, though, William looks up and past him, over his shoulder. Gabe turns around, frowning, and a second later he sees two of his bridge crew, Ross and Smith, come around the corner. They both salute, and Gabe salutes back, glad of the formality when he’s having to fight their new pet psychic for every inch of ground.

William’s not paying any attention to him, though, which takes some of the fun out of it. Instead, his eyes are locked with Ross’, searching and curious. Gabe’s about to loudly interrupt when William’s gaze slides sideways, onto Smith, and he smiles slowly.

“Really?” he says. “So soon?” When Smith just looks confused, William offers his hand, hoisting his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder. “William Beckett.”

“Staff parapsychologist,” Gabe puts in immediately, with just a touch of malicious glee. It makes Smith hesitate, but only for a second. He shakes William’s hand, and seems not to notice the way the touch lingers. Gabe notices. Ross does too, he thinks, but then he and Smith are military. They probably don’t bat an eyelash at much. Gabe approves of that kind of discipline.

“Doing push-ups and saluting wouldn’t make me any better at my job,” William says, eyeing him sideways. “Or any better in bed, although thanks for that. I do all right on my own.”

“Stop it,” Gabe says, which seems like a better alternative than _shit._

“Stop thinking so loud,” William shoots back, which is ridiculous, seriously, what the fuck? Gabe doesn’t have to put up with this. He’s the fucking _captain._

“Dismissed,” he says to Ross and Smith, because William’s eyes are lingering on Smith again and that’s unprofessional. Part of Gabe’s duty to his crew is to make sure they’re not made uncomfortable or exposed to harassment.

Ross and Smith head off with a mixture of reluctance and relief, casting a curious glance back as they go. William shifts his weight again impatiently and fixes his attention on Gabe again, where it belongs. “Are you going to show me where I’m staying, or are we waiting for the dolphin to take me there?”

Gabe doesn’t know how it’s physically possible for someone so attractive to be so annoying. “I was just about to, before we got sidetracked,” he says, flashing an easy grin. Fuck psychics and their diversionary tactics, Gabe has this situation all under control. “Ready to continue?”

“Let’s,” William suggests, swinging into movement with the relaxed gait of someone who hasn’t yet gained their sea legs. It’s habit, really, appraising someone’s gait for seaworthiness. It has nothing to do with William’s ass in those jeans. Seriously, though, jeans? Gabe doesn’t know what this kid is doing here. Maybe if he contacts Schechter quickly enough, they can scramble and find a replacement. Someone experienced. Someone more diplomatic. Someone who doesn’t spend their time ogling Smith.

“Too late,” William says, interrupting Gabe’s train of thought. “My assignment’s already gone through the top brass. We’re stuck with each other. And just so we're clear,” he adds, turning around. “That wasn’t harassment. _That,_ ” he emphasizes, with a meaningful look at Gabe, “is harassment.”

Gabe is absolutely, totally unfazed. “I’ve no idea to what you’re referring,” he says blandly.

William snorts, and then his eyes go slightly unfocused and he stares at a point somewhere over Gabe’s left shoulder. “Cuttlefish,” he says distantly. “On fire. The jewels of the ocean.”

“Excuse me?” Gabe tries. He feels even more lost now than he had ten minutes ago. He’s also not sure how serious William was about the harassment thing.

Whatever it is, William shakes it off, looking annoyed. “I don’t know,” he says. “All I do is tell you what I see. Then it’s your problem.” He swings his bag back over his shoulder with surprising force for someone the size of a toothpick, and resumes marching across the bay.

“This is going to be great,” Gabe mutters under his breath. He figures it doesn’t even matter whether he says it out loud or not, the kid is going to hear him. He’s going to have to watch himself now, because it would be fucking inconvenient to end up involuntarily sharing classified information. Or graphic fantasies about how he could keep William’s smart mouth occupied.

“This is me,” William says, coming to a halt in front of the door Gabe hadn’t yet pointed out to him. “Thanks for the escort.”

“Welcome aboard,” Gabe says again, and tries not to make it _too_ sarcastic. He’s fairly sure the sentiment gets across anyway.

William actually rolls his eyes. Gabe just stands there for a second trying to figure out if that really did just happen. What the fuck, does this kid not get the idea of _military command?_ Before he can come up with an appropriate rebuke, William’s wrestled his hatch open and chucked the bag inside. He pauses for a moment before shutting it behind him, looking at Gabe thoughtfully.

“For the record,” he says, “yes, I am that flexible.”

Gabe spends another few seconds staring at the closed hatch before he realizes that people can _see_ him out here staring at it, which is when he turns away and heads up to the bridge.

It’s not necessarily too late to get another melon-head. And even if it is, he still has plenty of time to bitch out Schechter.


End file.
